


Message in a Bottle

by MissyJack



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-18
Updated: 2014-03-18
Packaged: 2018-01-16 04:24:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1331818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissyJack/pseuds/MissyJack





	Message in a Bottle

So I wanted to write about Cas and Dean after the end of S5. Of course Sam is sorta in there as well, how could he not be?

Oh – a summary? Castiel has a hopeful message for Dean, and a *ahem* surprising method of delivering it.

Many thanks to [](http://laufeyette.livejournal.com/profile)[**laufeyette**](http://laufeyette.livejournal.com/) for an awesome beta.

Castiel hid in the shadows of Dean’s dreams.

***

_Beneath an old oak tree, Castiel stood as a fine rain of ash settled on his shoulders, and the thick stench of things on fire filled his lungs._

_He watched Dean run from a burning house, a blanket- wrapped bundle in his arms. He stopped when he reached the Impala and peeked underneath the blue wool._

_His screams were wide-mouthed and silent as a tiny charred hand grasped at his._

***

Castiel had thought this might work, immersing himself in Dean’s subconscious, opening himself wholly to the primal, uncensored emotions of Dean’s id that battered against his grace like jagged glass against silk.

It didn’t bring the results he'd hoped for, but Castiel persisted.

***

_Dean was kissing a woman, hand curled against her neck under a cascade of dark hair, another on her hip, pulling her to him. Around him were tables laden with cake and soda and hastily unwrapped gifts; red, green and yellow balloons tied to the chairs danced in the breeze. The woman pulled back and Castiel saw that her face was painted white and red – the face of a sad clown. She took a step back and the earth gave way beneath her feet. Dean grabbed for her, but she slipped away, falling before he could reach her._

_Dean stood looking at the ground as silent tears left tracks through the smears of white and red on his face._

***

Sometimes Castiel thought Dean caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of his mind’s eye.

***

 _It was a cemetery, and every tombstone was topped by an angel. Some had their faces upturned to a blank dark sky, others extended empty arms toward the cold earth. Castiel was in the gloomy doorway of a mausoleum with_ Harvelle _inscribed over the archway. Dean had dug up more than half the graves , every one of them empty. Dean placed his foot on the shovel and sliced through the turf into the ground. He tossed aside a clod of dirt from the next grave, then stopped, looking around him at the row of holes that gaped dark between the white headstones like missing teeth in an old mouth._

_Dean picked up the shovel, slowly hefting it back over his shoulder, swinging it forward, decapitating a smiling cherub. He moved methodically along the row, smashing wings, shattering prayer-clasped hands and angelic faces with grim pleasure._

***

_Dean’s head was bowed on crossed arms that rested on knees drawn up close to his chest. Even folded in on himself, he barely fitted on the small bed, where his bloody bruised feet left red smears on a quilt covered in tiny trains._

Castiel didn’t hide this time. He stood in front of the window, where weak dawn light the color of dishwater washed through the room.

"Dean."

Minutes passed and there was no response. Castiel sat on the edge of the bed and repeated, more firmly this time, “Dean.”

Without lifting his head, Dean responded. “Have you got Sam?”

"No."

"Fuck off then."

They stayed like that, both silent and unmoving, for awhile.

"I miss hamburgers."

Dean peeked up at him. "What?"

"Being cut off from Heaven was devastating for me. However, it led me to learn many things about humanity, about life, about faith. I have used these lessons to great effect in restoring order amongst the holy Host. Sometimes I wonder if that’s why it happened– God does move in mysterious..."

At a sharp look from Dean he stopped mid-sentence.

"Anyway," he continued,” sometimes I think I’d give it all up, rip the grace from within me, all for a White Castle Double Jalapeno Cheeseburger."

Something that may have been a smirk pulled at the corners of Dean’s mouth.

"I need to see you Dean. In person, I mean. In the flesh."

"You make it sound sort of dirty Cas.” He raised his head and looked Castiel squarely in the eye. “You know better than to try and get me involved in anything, right?"

"I will ask nothing of you.”

"You’ll just keep stalking my dreams until I do it, won’t you?" Dean gave a resigned sigh. "Okay. Tomorrow, 10am. Geist Reservoir, Indiana. Near the water, at the end of Bridgewater Road."

"Thank you." Castiel touched a hand lightly to Dean’s knee.

Dean woke up.

***

After Dean dropped Ben at school, he headed to the dam, which was about a 40 minute drive from Cicero. Five miles out, he pulled over and took a couple of deep draughts from a hip flask. He’d promised Lisa he wouldn’t drink while the sun was up, but today seemed like a reasonable occasion to make an exception.

Castiel was waiting for him and Dean wondered if he’d been standing there all night; he certainly seemed a little damp around the edges. He looked the same as he had the last time Dean had seen him nearly three months ago – tatty trench coat, tired suit. The only thing that was different was the wide smile that lit up his face as Dean got out of the car.

Castiel walked over and clasped him in a stiff hug that Dean was too surprised to return.

"You’re happy." Dean made it sound like an accusation.

"I am pleased to see you looking so well. From your dreams I suspected maybe you had not been taking care of yourself."

"Yeah, well I’ve had a fair bit of help in that department.” Dean looked away for a moment, and then turned back to Castiel. “So what was important enough to get you down from the clouds?"

Without warning, Castiel grabbed Dean by the front of his jacket, pulled him close, and kissed him.

Kiss was probably a generous description – there were lips and tongue involved, but Castiel kissed like someone who’d learned to kiss from the description in Wikipedia. Dean struggled immediately, but Castiel’s grip was iron tight, and it continued for a full minute until Castiel finally let go.

Immediately, Dean hauled back and landed a blow squarely on Castiel’s jaw, letting out a loud cry of pain when his fist connected. Castiel did not flinch.

Dean cradled his hand, then shook the pain out of it as he yelled, "You sick fuck. What sort of twisted son of a bitch are you?" He spat on the ground, grimacing as he dragged the back of his hand across his mouth.

"Dean…"

"As if... Fuck. I don’t even know you anymore." Dean took a couple of steps back, then turned to go.

"You’re upset." Castiel knew he must speak carefully now, if he was to find out if his experiment had worked. He stepped forward and reached out a hand to Dean’s shoulder, worried he would simply drive off. As he hoped, Dean spun around.

"Did you think I wouldn’t be? Was this your idea of some sort of weird grief therapy?"

"It was just a kiss." Castiel’s voice was even, but he was excited– Dean’s reaction seemed to support the premise from which he’d been working.

"It wasn’t _just_ anything and you know it. What gives you the right to mess with my head? Have you been making me dream things too?"

"I promise you Dean, I didn’t affect your mind in any way."

Dean looked at Castiel. All the time he’d known the angel, Castiel had never lied to him. Avoided telling him stuff, sure, but never outright lied to him.

"Really?"

"Yes."

Castiel could see Dean rapidly reprocessing what had happened, struggling to make sense of it. He walked up and down the length of the car, rubbing his hand through his hair.

"Nothing else?" Dean looked skeptical, but the hardness in his voice had been replaced by uncertainty.

Castiel pressed on; he had to know what Dean had really experienced.

"Why did the kiss make you so angry?"

Dean rolled his eyes and said, "Well, you’re a dude for a start."

"I am an angel; I do not have a gender. At least not in the simple binary way you seem to classify things."

"Oh don’t split queer theological hairs with me. You’re wearing a very guy shaped... shape. And I don’t... I’m not like that."

"Dean, I spent two years with you on Earth; I have visited your dreams. I know your desires are rather broader than you protest." For all the things he had come to understand about humans, their strange discomfort with their sexuality was not one of them.

"Well, you never tried to kiss me before. And by the way you’re a really crappy kisser."

Castiel cocked his head slightly to the side. "I can understand surprise, distaste even. But something else made you angry."

Dean leaned back on the hood of the car, head bowed. The next word was so low it was barely a syllable on his breath.

"Sam."

Castiel held very still, as if any movement might shatter the moment.

"When you kissed me, I felt Sam," said Dean. He looked up, eyes wide. “Not that it was like kissing Sam, I mean, I’ve haven’t... I never even thought of…” Dean was tripping over his words, and he glanced away, as if scared Castiel would challenge his claim. “It was like he was here."

"Are you sure?"

Dean nodded, chewing slightly on his lower lip. "Since it happened I’ve had moments, you know, when I thought I saw him. Thought I felt him near me. Sometimes when I’m driving I’ll look across, and for a moment I’ll think he’s sitting there."

"But this was different?"

"Yeah, sort of like the difference between a photo and movie. More real, but not quite." Dean searched for the word. "More present somehow. That’s why I thought it must be you. What was it Cas? How could it be Sam?"

He swallowed the last word and shook his head, torn between wanting to believe and not daring to hope.

Castiel walked over and leaned back on the car next to Dean.

"Did you ever wonder why Michael wanted to kill Lucifer?"

Dean looked at him quizzically, surprised by the seemingly random change of topic. "Because he was a dick?"

"Lucifer was imprisoned for millennia, yet Michael's rage toward him kept growing, up to the point where he let the Apocalypse start just so he could kill him."

Dean shrugged. “So the guy holds a grudge, what’s this got to do with what just happened?"

"I remember Anna called it angel radio – the way all angels can hear each other, our true voices, as if they are broadcast on the same frequency." Dean looked at Castiel sharply. "We could hear Lucifer from his cage. For most angels it was like a whisper just out of earshot, a low static hum in the universe. For the archangels, for his brothers, Lucifer’s taunts and obscenities were loud and clear. I suspect he knew that his goading of Michael would eventually lead to his release."

Dean stood up and stared at Castiel.

"Are you saying I really just heard Sam? From wherever he is now?"

"Yes, I think so. Michael and Lucifer have been audible to the Host of Heaven for a while, but then recently I thought I sensed Sam."

"Well, thanks for rushing down and letting me know."

"I wasn’t sure Dean. I thought maybe it was simply hope. Or maybe grief."

Dean looked at him, surprised. "You?"

"I experience emotions now. I think it was my feelings for Sam that allowed me to connect with him."

Dean didn’t say anything, but he sat down next to Castiel and patted him on the leg.

Castiel continued. "I thought if I could tap into your feelings it would amplify the signal. So I tried immersing myself in your id, your subconscious. When it didn’t work, I realized we needed a more physical connection, one that tapped more deeply into sense memory, into my emotions as well as yours. Sexual contact seemed satisfy all that."

"We couldn’t just share a burger and a beer?"

Castiel looked thoughtful for a moment. "I never considered that possibility. Is there a bar near here?"

Dean looked at him sharply, then seeing the crinkles around Castiel’s eyes, he punched him in the arm. "Hey – you made a joke! So, why the ninja attack with the kissing?"

"I didn’t want to influence you. I needed you to have the experience without knowing what to look for. Plus, I didn’t think you would kiss me if I asked."

"Yeah well… probably I wouldn’t have. But," and Dean looked straight at Castiel, "maybe I would."

What followed was a silence best described as awkward.

Dean cleared his throat before he continued. "Speaking of which, should we try again? I mean, now that I know what’s going on, maybe we can pick up more?"

Castiel nodded. "Yes, I think that could be possible. We should."

Dean moved to stand in front of Castiel, who was still leaning against the hood of the Impala.  
" Okay then," he said.

They both moved toward each other and then away, then together again, bumping noses like a couple of hesitant teenagers in their first fumbling encounter. Dean made an exasperated sound.

Castiel reached out a hand to still Dean. "You have experience with this Dean, which I do not. I suggest you guide the proceedings."

"Yeah, okay. Maybe you could close your eyes?"

Castiel obeyed, and Dean cupped a hand against his cheek, holding him still as he leaned in, pressing his lips to Castiel’s. Dean felt self-conscious and slightly uncomfortable. Whatever urges Castiel may have seen in Dean’s dreams, he generally kept them repressed with a whole raft of things that could generally be categorized as "things Dad wouldn’t approve of" He had little experience with guys, and precisely one slightly non-consensual encounter with an angel.

Dean felt anxious during the first couple of kisses, although they were close mouthed and almost innocent. Nothing was happening; this was hopeless and more than a bit embarrassing. He was about to pull away when Castiel parted his lips and Dean felt his tongue lick along his lips. Almost instinctively, he opened his mouth too and pressed forward, sliding his tongue against Castiel’s. The feeling was almost like a static shock, a wet, buzzing tingle.

That’s when he felt it, a presence as if Sam were there standing against his shoulder. The intensity of it caused him to gasp, breaking the contact with Castiel, and the feeling of Sam started fading.

Frantic to get it back, Dean wrapped a hand around the nape of Castiel’s neck and plunged his tongue into his mouth. The kiss was wet and messy and full of desperation. Castiel was playing catch-up pretty well, letting Dean push into him, but he was not passive; he licked back at Dean, sucking at his lips when he could.

The sense of Sam returned, although still faint, and Dean almost groaned in frustration as he faded in and out like a bad TV signal. Then he felt Castiel shift against him, pressing forward with his hips, and Dean simultaneously felt himself start to harden, and the sense of Sam start to solidify.

Dean hitched a leg up, foot on the fender, and ground hard against Castiel, the force of his thrusts bending him back, until Castiel’s elbows rested on the black of the hood. Dean started to hear a faint sound – high pitched, distant but growing louder. He remembered the shattering, painful effects of angel voices, and realized it may soon block out any sense of Sam. Castiel realized it too and began using every drop of power to open them both to the ether, to Sam’s frequency.

Slowly, a pale white light started seeping from Castiel, intensifying until it was hard to tell whether Dean was only bathed in its glow, or whether he was absorbing it and reflecting it back. With his entire mind he was screaming: "I’m here Sam. I’m coming for you."

Dean was scared now that he was imagining things, because it was as if he was disconnected from the primal rutting taking place on the hood of his car. Sam was standing in front to him – solid, real – and he had his arms outstretched, like he'd done when he was a kid and he wanted Dean to hold him. It was agonizing for Dean – Sam got closer and closer, but was never within reach.

Suddenly, a shudder ran through Dean’s body, and then Castiel’s and in a moment the two tensed and there was immense explosion of light. In that instant, Dean felt the brush of Sam’s fingers against his and heard him say, "Dean."

Afterwards, Dean stood breathing heavily, slowly becoming aware of the sticky mess in his pants. Castiel was the first to move, pushing past Dean and walking to the edge of the water.  
"Did you hear him?"

"Yes," Castiel turned, “faintly. You did too.” It was not a question.

"Damn, it was like he was here Cas. I could almost touch him." Dean reached out slightly with one hand, until he realized what he was doing and snatched his arm down. "So what now? How do we get him out?"

"I need more information. I should consult with Joshua and Raphael too, if he’ll speak to me." Castiel had felt a small surge, hearing that business-like confidence in Dean’s voice again. He hated to quash it, but they had to face the truth of the situation. "There are no guarantees they will have any answers, any way to rescue Sam. What happened here may not change anything."

"It changes everything," Dean’s tone brooked no argument. "We know Sam is _alive_ , and he knows we’re coming for him, that we haven’t abandoned him. And Sam’s got Michael and Lucifer with him – you can bet he’s working on getting anything useful from them right now."

Castiel nodded. "I’ll return soon. We will need to do this again. This and maybe even more Dean; the intensity of the contact seems clearly correlated to the manifestation." Castiel walked up to Dean and touched him lightly on the cheek. The intimacy of the gesture seemed appropriate now. “Are you okay with that?"

"There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for Sam, you know that," Dean's voice was firm, but then a slight hesitancy crept in. "And it wasn’t, well, it wasn’t that weird."

A smile touched Castiel’s lips. If he didn’t know him better, he would say that Dean had just blushed.

"That’s good. But Dean," Castiel said just before he disappeared, "maybe next time you can buy me a burger first."

 


End file.
